


Spectacle of the Air

by reanimatorjuice



Series: Circus of Fears [1]
Category: Original Work, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 1920s, Avatar OCs - Freeform, Backstory, Circus, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jazz Age, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28068120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reanimatorjuice/pseuds/reanimatorjuice
Summary: Self-indulgently writing a fic about my two TMA avatar OCs, in a circus setting in the 1920sTheir backstories (how they became avatars) and how they meet, maybe even meeting some canon characters around at the time...  Setting up for future fics of these two bastards
Relationships: OC/OC, Original Character/Original Character, Vincent Teller (OC)/Damian Romanescu (OC)
Series: Circus of Fears [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056092
Kudos: 2





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you for reading! I love these two very much and hope other people enjoy the lads. 
> 
> If you want to know more, [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1p_lV_zk2J76A6q63mZH5JXz-6-bP521cnnImDSxu3C4/edit?usp=sharing) are their character sheets with a lot more info, [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1s0wXeRhCr716ijqe2__tl33jwsSVmrbyqGvw4gHFTZY/edit?usp=sharing) is the same fic you're reading on Google Docs if for whatever reason you want to watch me finish this in Real Time, and [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1vmcVxkoiSADNPQ2kSlgao02MH4jRwEYm2QSIbLju6uo/edit?usp=sharing) is shameless (18+) smut of these two on Google Docs (fic on here coming soon). 
> 
> I also made [Vincent](https://pin.it/2UyEu1m) and [Damian](https://pin.it/6eAIAHs) Pinterest boards. Thank you ily
> 
> Other important information:  
> Circus Name: Ringling Bros. Circus (real circus founded in 1919 in the U.S., known most famously for PT Barnum and “The Greatest Show on Earth.” In this timeline, it was founded the same year the Ringlings purchased Barnum & Bailey Greatest Show: 1907 and run by Charles and John Ringling.)  
> Side characters -- Kristof Alberti (ringmaster, web avatar)  
> Time period: 1920s America (specifically 1922)  
> \- Vincent is an avatar of the Spiral and Damian is an avatar of the Vast

_**Jupiter, Florida. December 1912** _

Damian huffed as he wrapped another piece of gauze around his calloused and now-blistered palms. He’d only joined the American circus as a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old only several months ago, and he practiced for hours daily in an attempt to prove his worth to the Brothers, as he feared he was not good enough to be an acrobat for them and would be sent back to Romania after just making a life here in what Damian considered to be the greatest country in the world. He longed for fame, and hard work was the only way to earn the American dream. 

Damian did not, however, appreciate how the Floridian heat and humidity made him sweat despite it being winter. He’d been practicing since before the sun had even risen, and the sun was already sinking into the horizon. He was exhausted, but Damian had to keep pushing himself to be the best he could during the show, which would begin in only two days. They had set up his aerialist equipment for him to practice outside as the other circus performers worked to pitch the tent and concession stands. His current trapeze setup was only barebones at the moment in order to be moved into the tent easily once it was pitched, so Damian had to be very careful with no net or other form of safety. 

Grabbing some of the chalk from the bowl on the small stool to his side, Damian powdered his hands in prep to protect the sores and continue with his practice. He sighed and climbed back up the tall ladder to the platform. At the top, he stretched his arms and legs one last time. His limbs ached so badly they burned and his head was fuzzy from exhaustion, but he had to keep going. There wasn’t much time. He shook is head and took a sip from the water bottle he left on the platform in an attempt to snap out of it. 

Taking a deep breath, he gripped the trapeze bar tightly. He winced as his blisters stung. This would be the last one before he stopped practice for the day. Then, Damian took a step back, and jumped. 

_ This  _ was why he joined the circus. The exhilaration of swinging high through the air, the feeling of the wind whipping his hair against his face, the thrill of knowing the danger that he might fall but also knowing he never would. His heart thrummed with excitement as he swung his legs and let go of the bar, flipping in the air in the middle of freefall before latching onto the bar of the next one. 

Damian knew that he was not an expressive man -- knew so from the way his coworkers spoke to him (when they even did, which was rare). He knew he was abrasive, but there was only one thing in life that brought a true smile to his face and gave him joy, and that was his life being an acrobat. 

Damian recalled his childhood, living in the poor part of town in Cluj, and how he would perform for what few friends he had as a kid or passerby by walking a “tightrope” he tied between two trees and doing a balancing act, or taking his mother’s sheets and using them as silks. His mother would read him stories of the circus -- of clowns and strongmen and sword-swallowers, and… acrobats. And he knew then that was the life he would have. One day, he would perform for large audiences all across America. When the opportunity struck, he took the first boat to America. And now here he was with The Greatest Show on Earth. 

He smiled now as he swung backward again and hooked his legs over the other bar, now trapezing upside down. He watched as the ground flew by dozens of feet beneath him. 

However, maybe he  _ should  _ have taken a break before, he realized, as his heart now jumped with fear rather than excitement. It skipped a beat as Damian reached for the bar to make his next move and let go of the last, but this time he lost his grip on the bar. His hands were slicked with blood from the popped blisters and his muscles had finally given out. 

Damian’s stomach dropped as he dropped too, truly in a freefall. The wind whistled in his ears and brushed his skin almost comfortingly as he fell, and Damian shut his eyes tight, waiting for the painful (and likely deadly) impact. 

But it never came. 

He’d been falling too long -- he  _ had  _ to have hit the ground by now. Damian carefully pried a teary eye open and saw nothing but blue sky. Opening both eyes wide open now in confusion, Damian looked to see that he was so high he was above the  _ clouds  _ now. He looked in awe at the curvature of the Earth and the minuscule trees and lakes below. He could even see the yellow and red dot that must have been the circus tent, and the trails of performer caravans that looked like ants. 

He uncurled himself from the balled position he’d instinctively turned himself into, and the fall didn’t feel so fast and terrifying anymore. Damian felt no fear, he felt  _ joy.  _ He felt as though he were drifting down like a feather, or a dandelion seed. He turned in the air and looked in awe at the setting sun, and he felt tears float away into the sky as he could see the sunset in such a way that he thought it was for him and him alone. Damian thought the feeling might be reverence, or perhaps even… love. 

He fell past the clouds and continued to fall until he landed, spectacularly, on his feet in nearly the same place he would’ve had he successfully completed his act. He stared at the solid ground distastefully. He wanted to be in the air again -- wanted to return to the sky rather than feel the aching tension between the Earth’s gravity and his body. 

But he felt so, so tired now as the exhaustion caught up with him once more. He looked to the sky once more and saw that the moon was now up and the stars were beginning to appear, and he smiled at them genuinely. It was time to sleep whether he wanted to or not. 

That experience would stick with him for the rest of his life, starting now. Already, he wanted to feel and experience that all over again. And he would find out how no matter what cost. 

* * *

_**Chicago, Illinois. June 1908** _

“Now, if I could just get a volunteer from the audience… ah! Yes, you, young sir. Come up onto the stage--” 

Vincent pulled up the boy -- who looked to be not much younger than he was -- onto the stage. It was a typical night for Vincent since he’d joined the circus: full of mind games and sleights of hand, one sly trick after another until every poor sap who stepped beneath the big top was wrapped around his finger. This would be the culmination of it all, his grand finale. He had been planning it for what felt like forever--perhaps since he first began practicing magic tricks, playing with spare nickels he found in his parents’ drawers and making them disappear, or attempting to lull the family dog into a trance.

His parents had never appreciated his tricks. In fact, they’d hated them, and taken every opportunity they could to discourage him.  _ “Stupid boy,”  _ his father had snapped after confiscating his deck of cards.  _ “Only God can work miracles. To pretend otherwise is to play with the Devil.” _

Vincent had never intended to play with the Devil, only to have a little fun. But it didn’t matter anyhow--ever since he’d run away at 15, the Devil had become just another household name, and nowadays, Vincent would be proud to call him an associate if it meant a boost to his image. All press was good press, as he often said.

And tonight would be the night he claimed stardom once and for all.

“And what is your name, young man?” he asked the boy from the audience. His twitchy smile was illuminated by the stage lights, somewhere between nervous and excited as he looked out to the crowd and back at Vincent.

“I’m Charlie,” he said. 

“Excellent, excellent,” Vincent said jovially, clapping him on the back. “Tell me, Charlie, do you believe in magic?”

“I’m not so sure I do,” Charlie admitted. 

“Oh, that’s all right! I’m sure I’ll have you convinced by the night’s end. Say, how do you feel about a little hypnosis?”

Charlie thought for a moment. “Hypnosis, huh? That means you could make me do whatever you want, right?” 

“In a manner of speaking,” said Vincent. “But it’s not so much about  _ control _ as it is… opening your mind to new ideas.” He spread his hands. “If you become more open to the idea of falling asleep, or crawling on all fours like a dog, well. How much of that was truly my doing?” The audience tittered. Their attention was warmer than even the stage lights, and Vincent basked in it.

Charlie grinned, made bold by Vincent’s showmanship. “All right, I’ll do it,” he said. “And if it works, could you teach me a few tricks? I know a doll who could stand to open her mind toward me.” 

Vincent laughed.  _ You’re asking the wrong person.  _ The audience found it just as amusing, but for quite a different reason--a girl in the same row Vincent had pulled Charlie from was covering her face with her hands, blushing faintly. Charlie threw her a wink. 

“I make no promises,” said Vincent. He guided him to the chair set in the center of the stage. Charlie sat down, folding his hands over his lap. 

Vincent positioned himself beside the chair, angled at once toward Charlie and the audience. He pulled his pocket-watch from the breast of his coat and allowed it to fall to the end of its chain, jouncing in the air a few times before settling. Charlie’s eyes zeroed in on it. As soon as they did, Vincent swished his wrist, setting the watch in a gently swinging rhythm. Its reflection passed back and forth in Charlie’s pupils in a steady one-two.

“Now,” said Vincent, lowering his voice into a more soothing tone. “I want you to follow the watch, and imagine you can hear it ticking. It’s counting down, and once time is up, you will find yourself in a deep trance.”

Charlie nodded slowly. His eyes flicked back and forth. “Very good,” Vincent said, slowly and quietly. “Take a deep breath, and feel your body relax. That chair’s more comfortable than you expected. In fact, it might be the most comfortable you’ve ever been.” Charlie inhaled deeply. 

Vincent snuck a look at the audience. Their faces were obscured by shadow, and they were quiet, but their attention was just as rapt. He could practically feel them breathing in tempo with the swing of his watch. Not a sound could be heard but the faint swish of its chain and an echoing  _ tick, tock, tick. _

“Let all thoughts drift away from you,” Vincent said softly. “In time, you may begin to feel your body drift away as well. You are no longer in this place, but someplace far away, someplace you haven’t been in years--your childhood home, perhaps.”

Charlie’s eyes were glassy. The reflection of the watch flicked back and forth between them, its pale white face obscuring their former blue. Vincent could almost see the ornate hands winding around, spiraling through his vision like the classic hypnotic swirl. 

“Perfect,” Vincent purred. “If you just relax, it’ll all come back to you. Sights and sounds and sensations you haven’t felt in so very long… it all feels familiar, doesn’t it?”

The room was so silent, it was almost crushing. The sound of the pocket-watch rolled like thunder.  _ Tick. Tock. Tick.  _ The layering echoes produced a strange effect, almost like faint voices murmuring to each other.  _ Tick. “Disgusting.” Tock. “Foolish boy.” Tick. “There is something wicked in you.” _

“You feel comfortable, at peace,” said Vincent, his own voice sounding far away. “Everything is as it once was. Everything is as it should be.”

Charlie’s spine was rigid, his knuckles white against the seat of his chair. His face had gone pale, but he continued breathing deeply and steadily, spellbound. “You feel exactly as you did before,” said a voice that might have belonged to Vincent. “So much that you might wonder if anything has truly changed. You never left, did you? You can still hear them. They’re waiting.”

The watch was so loud it rang through Vincent’s skull. The audience’s eyes bored into him. He couldn’t look away, but he could feel them there, more than there had been when the show began--thousands, maybe, hundreds of thousands, all drinking in his glory. The hands wound around the clock-face, turning seconds into minutes, and minutes into hours. “You’ve been asleep so very long,” whispered a voice. 

_ Tick. “There is no such thing as magic.” Tock. The slam of a door, a cry of pain—”It’s against nature!” Tick. “Normal boys aren’t like him.” Tock. “No one is like you.” Tick. “Come to us, Vincent Teller.” Tock. “Come home.”  _

_ Tick. _

_ Tock. _

_ Tick. _

Vincent’s eyes snapped open with a gasp. His watch had stopped swinging. Charlie sat in the chair, his eyes locked on something far in the distance and face contorted with terror. His lips formed silent words, nonsense syllables that Vincent couldn’t follow if he tried. 

He drew the watch up by its chain and stowed it in his coat. 

Without its ticking, he could only hear the screaming.

The entire room shrieked as one, ignited with an agony of the senses he couldn’t begin to imagine. It dripped into his mind in a slow, satisfying wave, like slipping into a warm bath. Vincent turned to face them, and as he did, a wide smile spread across his face. He couldn’t say what had come over them all, but whatever it was, it was  _ delicious _ \--and it was his. His creation, his grand finale. And it was beautiful.

He spread his hands and took a bow. 


	2. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent and Damian meet for the first time. Written by the lovely cedarbranch here on AO3

**Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. August 1912**

_ "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please welcome Vincent Teller to the stage!”  _

Applause rang out through the theatre. Damian slipped into the wings just in time to catch the tail of the magician’s tux whisk away between the deep red stage curtains. The crowd roared even louder. 

Vincent Teller. Damian had seen him around but had never spoken to him. Since Damian’s arrival, they’d hardly even made eye contact—which, given what he’d heard about Teller, was probably a good thing. Kristof had told Damian not to trust a word he said, and to never agree to be an audience participant if he valued his sanity. Damian figured those warnings to be mostly metaphorical, or at least exaggerated. Teller didn’t look dangerous. He looked like a pansy. 

Damian leaned against the wall of the backstage area, looking out to where Teller had taken center stage. He looked perfectly at home under the lights, with a proud posture and ringing, confident voice. “Now, I have a few objects here — a rope, a top hat, and a watch — that I am going to hand out to some members of the audience to look over,” he said, stepping to the edge of the stage and leaning down, extending the coil of rope. An audience member stepped up and took it from him. “I do this to prove that these objects are just as any in your home. No trap doors, no secret compartments.” The audience chuckled. 

“Now,” Teller continued, “With this watch, I have the ability to hypnotize any member of this audience right before your very eyes.” A hushed murmur swept over the room. “Don’t believe it? I can show you. Can I get one volunteer from the audience?” 

Damian crossed his arms over his chest, settling into a more comfortable position against the wall. Now this, he wanted to see. A man a few rows back waved his hand, and Teller pointed at him. “You there! Step right up.” He went to the edge of the stage and held out his hand, pulling the young man up onto the stage beside him. “You’re an awfully brave one, volunteering right away like that,” he told him. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Tom!”

  
“Do you believe in hypnosis, Tom?”

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t. Not one bit.”

Teller laughed. “Well, let’s see about that, shall we?” He held out his hand once more, and the items he’d passed out to the audience made their way back to him one by one.

Damian studied his hands closely. He knew enough about how magicians operated to know what to look out for—they’d talk you dizzy, then pull a fast one on you while you weren’t looking. But even as he tracked every motion, he didn’t catch anything slip from Vincent’s sleeve or his palm. He talked the volunteer through a few tricks, then pulled out his pocket watch and held it before him. 

Damian couldn’t see the hands of the watch move, but he could hear them ticking, even from a distance. Vincent’s voice grew softer, and as the volunteer’s posture began to slump, Damian felt the change—an almost-imperceptible shift in the air, like a switch had been flipped, but no one else could hear the sound. 

“Still with us, Tom?” Teller asked. There was no reply. “You’re looking awfully tired there. Why don’t you show us all you’re still awake? Go on, about-face!”

Tom’s hand shot to his forehead in a salute. The audience tittered. Damian raised his eyebrows. It could still be a trick—the volunteer could be an audience plant, or just a good sport playing along. But Damian had watched Teller take the stage, and he hadn’t been talking to anyone beforehand.

And besides, that wouldn’t explain the strange feeling in the air. When it came to magicians, seeing was  _ not  _ believing—there was far too much room for optical illusions—but feeling was another story. Damian wouldn’t call himself a believer, but he was suddenly gripped with certainty that whatever Teller was doing, it was real.

The poor hypnotized volunteer stayed onstage for a while, acting out tricks and confessing embarrassing stories that made the audience howl with laughter until Teller took out his pocket watch once more and wound it in the opposite direction. This time, his gentle monologue guided Tom towards wakefulness, and when the final tick of the watch rang out, he startled. “What was that?” he asked, looking all around. “I think I blacked out for a moment—what happened?”

“Oh, don’t worry too much about it,” Teller said, clapping him on the back. He took his hand and held it up to the audience. “Give it up for Tom, folks!” The audience clapped and whistled. Tom looked back and forth between Teller and the myriad cheering faces, bemused. Damian stifled a chuckle. 

“Thank you, thank you!” Teller spread his hands to the audience and bowed with a flourish. He soaked in their applause like a cat in the sunlight. Even with his back turned, Damian could feel the satisfaction radiating off him. He helped the dazed volunteer step off the stage, then turned and strode toward the wings as the curtains drew shut. Damian pushed himself up off the wall. 

“Well done,” said the commentator as Teller walked by. 

Teller smiled. “I’m glad you thought so. He went under awfully easy, don’t you think? There’s no challenge in it these days.”

The commentator scoffed. “There’s never any challenge in it, not for you.”

Teller laughed. “You flatter me!”

It was then that Damian chose to speak up: “I think he’s right,” he said. “This is the first of your shows I’ve seen, but you can mark me down as thoroughly impressed.”

Teller turned and caught his eye. It was the first time Damian had seen him up close. Normally, when Damian met performers in person, he got the impression that they seemed a little less magical than they did onstage—there would always be faint smudges in their makeup or wrinkles in their clothing, as a reminder that they were ultimately and imperfectly human. 

Teller was different. He didn’t have a hair out of place, and something in his aura felt  _ more  _ magnetic than it had while he was performing. His eyes flicked over Damian, and something subtly shifted in his posture—the commentator moved on, evidently recognizing his dismissal without even a word. “Pardon me, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Teller said smoothly. 

“We haven’t been formally introduced, no.” Damian extended his hand. “My name is Damian Romanescu. I’m an acrobat.”

Teller took his hand and shook it. His fingers were delicate, but there was strength in them, too. “Pleased to meet you, Damian,” he said. “May I call you Damian?” 

Damian paused. He would’ve said yes right away if it hadn’t been for the warnings—and the fact that he’d just seen how much sway Teller could have over a person. It might not be wise to get too close to him.

But then again, it might not be wise to make a bad first impression, either. 

“I don’t see why not,” Damian said cautiously. “We are to be coworkers, after all.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be more than that. You can call me Vincent.” Vincent let go of Damian’s hand. It might’ve been Damian’s imagination, but it felt like he lingered a moment longer than was customary. He smiled—and if his hand hadn’t lingered, his eyes certainly were. Damian wasn’t in the habit of buttoning his shirts all the way up to the collar, but he wasn’t used to other men  _ looking. _

Well. At least not  _ publicly. _

“Where did Kristof find you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Vincent asked. “I don’t recall the last time I saw a new face around here. Especially not one like yours.”

For a moment, Damian’s mind was wiped blank. He didn’t know what to say. The way Vincent said it, it sounded almost… no, it  _ was  _ flirtatious. But why? Vincent was a performer, and a high-profile one at that. Surely he couldn’t go around flirting with men in the circus—his appearance alone was bound to raise suspicions about him. Maybe this was one of the reasons Damian had been warned away from him. 

Damian let none of his uncertainty show, though. “Ellis Island,” he said. “He found me quickly. I was part of another show back in Romania, but I thought I might find better opportunities here. Apparently, I was right; I’ve only been here a couple of weeks.”

“Ah, Romania! I was trying to place your accent. You’re an awfully long way from home.” Vincent smiled. “I’m glad you’ve managed to find yourself here.” He pulled the fingers of his white glove loose one by one, then plucked the glove off and stowed it in his coat pocket. The other one followed suit. “I should go and get washed up,” he said casually. “It’s been a long day running the Greatest Show on Earth.” There was a moment’s pause. “You could come, if you’d like. I could show you the ropes.”

It was all Damian could do not to stare at him. He couldn’t be serious. There had to be some kind of ulterior motive here, and whatever it was, Damian didn’t care to find out. It wasn’t that Vincent was unattractive—he was certainly handsome, with an angular face and eyes so crystal blue they were almost mesmerizing—but a lot could hide behind a pretty face. For now, Damian was content to make a good impression and leave it at that. 

“I’m an acrobat, remember?” he said lightly. “I’m plenty familiar with the ropes already.”

Vincent laughed. “Oh, are you? Maybe you ought to show me a thing or two, then.”

Something in his tone made goosebumps rise across Damian’s skin. Strangely enough, some part of him wanted to say yes—to find out more about this strange and charming magician, and maybe get the chance to touch him, an opportunity Damian had rarely ever been given by another man. But, no. He had his job to consider, if not his own good sense. “Perhaps another time,” he said as graciously as he could. “I am still new here, I have some matters to take care of by this evening to help me settle in.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll leave you to it, then.” Vincent nodded to him, and Damian started off toward the exit. Just as he reached the doorway, Vincent called out to him: “Oh, and Damian?” 

Damian glanced back over his shoulder. 

“Be sure to let me know when you’ve settled in, won’t you?”

Damian opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again as he debated the most polite thing to say. It was difficult to tell what the appropriate response would be, and somehow, as he was weighing the options, the truth slipped out instead.

“I will,” he said. He meant it, but he couldn’t say why. Maybe this was just another example of Vincent’s strange power—they’d only exchanged a few words, and Damian already felt drawn to him. 

Vincent smiled, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes. Damian swallowed hard. Maybe it wasn’t Vincent’s power as his own weakness. 

Either way, he was helpless to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next will likely be Damian meeting good ol' Simon Fairchild, followed by the last chapter of them getting together for realsies. yeehaw.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for reading :,) if you want to talk to me about these bastards or ask any questions, my NSFW twitter is @spiralnips with my SFW twitter, tumblr, and Instagram being @reanimatorjuice 
> 
> I also have a Discord server for other avatar OCs in the same circus! Ask me on any of my socials and I'll send ya the link 
> 
> Vincent's avatar story written by my good friend cedarbranch here on AO3, pls go give them some love :)


End file.
